


Names define us

by ARMEN15



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 16:20:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18973615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: Because the truth comes out  and feelings, too..... and strange things can happen in the wilderness... strange names can be used by two lovers....a little suspension of disbelief... it can be a strange story...





	1. Chapter 1

REVELATIONS AND CONFESSIONS

 

“Claire, what are you doing here?”  
Claire had stopped her car in front of a private entrance when she had spotted her sister walking away from the bus stop.  
“It’s impossible to stay with godmother and dad dancing cheek to cheek and all the crazy family. I need air. Wanna a lift?”  
“Sure thanks.”  
She hold the statue in her lap while clicking the seat belt.  
“Where did our priest go? Aunt Phillyda saw how good looking our priest is and started babbling about her sister in law who married an Anglican one and what a waste of men our church is.”  
The pressure of fingers on the feminine curves of the statue made the knuckles white. A sigh. A sob.  
“What’s wrong? The marriage is done, Godmother is happy and won’t stress us again, for a while I hope.”  
Thick silence you could walk over it.  
“So what? Did the stupid bird cut your tongue?”  
“Claire promise to keep it secret. Over mom’s grave, promise!”  
Claire nodded, what else could she do, seeing black make up dilued tears streaming over her sister’s face, like a line traced by a little kid with insecure fingers.  
“Me and him had sex last night.”  
“Him ..who?”  
“Our priest. Shit! Don’t stop so fast. Ouch, my poor neck.”  
“Sorry.”  
Claire found a 30 min parking space along the street and got out to put a coin into the machine; she had no courage to drive again soon, fearing to listen to what her sister was going to confess. 

“You need a break from here and ..from him.”  
“I told you we parted amicably.”  
“You cannot see him again. It’s too…”  
At a loss for words, Claire made a quick mental refresh of the Oxford dictionary.  
“Too impossible!” she blurted out at least. “And you don’t want to see him, do you?”  
“It hurts. He says it will pass, but for now it hurts like hell.”  
“Good, I know the right place. My Yoga teacher…”  
“Do you Yoga?”  
“There’s so many things you ignore about me. My master goes once a year to a small resort in the Welsh moor, peaceful, calm, vegetarian cuisine, long walks, a swimming pool. Attending to meditation classes is not an obligation.”  
Claire replied to every attempt to undermine her idea: the coffee was already closed for the wedding weekend, a convenient bank holiday in the coming week and sally could manage the coffee for two days alone, so she could take the whole week off.  
A quick call to the yoga teacher and another to the resort reserved a single room, the most isolate and quiet.  
“I still don’t know if it is a good idea, I want to be alone.”  
“It’s not a Ibiza beach bar, you can have your privacy, you can also give a fake name.”  
“Names defines us.”  
“So, how do you want to be called there?”  
“Magdalen.”  
“Ok Magdalen, let’s go to your flat, pack a bag and tomorrow morning you new life will start.”

***

“Sister Angela?”  
The high pitched voice of the bishop’s private secretary summoned into the office a tall nun, dressed in a well tailored blue suit, matching in style and elegance the one of her director.  
Her face expressionless, her lips so thin to disappear in the hole of the mouth.  
“Yes, father John.”  
“Our brother here needs a confession. Father Patrick?  
“He’s practicing with the choir for tomorrow concert, he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”  
“Father William?”  
“He’s gone out to convert the sinners at the betting agency.”  
The secretary’s face showed concern, he didn’t want to confess himself, Sister Angela knew it well.  
“There’s the bishop, he was in the orchard tending to his roses. The flowers show is in two weeks.”

“My son, you celebrated a wedding in a state of disgrace! Thank God the spouses were unaware or it could be considered null.”  
The bishop posed the garden scissor and the thick glove.  
“So you ask forgiveness for your sins? Do you repent them?”  
“I do.”  
There was nothing else to say to your bishop, he couldn’t say how deep he felt connected with his beautiful atheist, not only for the sex but for the human presence she offered him.  
“Did you sinned only once with her?”  
“What do you mean? I’ve been with her a night only.”  
“You coupled only once?”  
He shook his head.  
“How many and how?”  
“Why? I’ve told you I betrayed my chastity, what else do you want to know?”  
“There’s a different punishment depending on positions and repetitions. You know well, don't waste the seed.”

The secretary took a few sheets and a pen to the bishop, who completed a list of prayers and lectures and passed it to the priest.  
“Well, this punishment will do you goof, here is the list.”  
The secretary bowed his head close to the bishop’s ear and whispered something.  
The older men nodded and so the secretary spoke.  
“Outside confession, there's the problem of your position as a priest. So father John is here, too.Do you think she’ll suit you? Go to the press? We need to be extra careful, nowadays. It’s better you go to one of our places to reflect for a little while.”  
The bishop added maximum discretion was important so he had to hide with everyone his destination and the reason behind it.  
“And Pam, my helper in the parish? “  
“Simply tell her you’re going to your annual retire, as lots of priests do. We’ll send a substitute for you there.”  
The priest appeared resigned.  
“So when and where do I have to go?”  
“Immediately, father John himself will drive you there, don't worry, he tells me it’s a lovely place in Wales.”

TBC


	2. PEACE

PEACE

Claire was right, the soft hills and valleys were so enchanting she thought they weren’t real. A surprise, being from a family that never loved or appreciated open spaces, whose holidays were spent in crowded Mediterranean sea villages.  
Travelling with her sister had been good, something they could - should - try again soon. Talking with her, no need of strange friends with Claire. Once the cafè was in safe hand and Hilary, too, she felt free.  
Paying taxes to protect areas of outstanding beauty had suddenly a new meaning, she felt proud to be British. A country that created a empire had the awareness to protect its home land.  
Waking up inside a charming simple little room, all in tones of lavender, a bowl of fresh fruits on the table, a cup of tea to drink - a special Indian blend - she felt cocooned by the light of the rising sun from the window facing east.  
She seldom experienced a similar peace. She wore the soft two pieces robe in organic cotton the kind man, who welcomed her when Claire left, suggested to use, with her name on it. Something that made a garment very personal, very belonging to, said at the girl the old sewing machine while she swiftly added the name on the t shirt.  
The people she met at dinner were from various parts of England, mostly for the Yoga lessons, but also normal folks, just in need of a break for themselves.  
The yoga adepts were easily identifiable, calm, relaxed, a low tone of voice. She felt a twinge of envy toward them, if they could keep that inner peace always, all her years of bed hopping and fears avoiding could have been spent better. And her tennis lesson less in need of the hairdresser for her sweating head. Conversation about life and love and all the major issues of every human being, including the weather, lasted until midnight on deck chairs around the swimming pool, avoiding the chill with plaids and some mild herbal drinks.  
The place inspired her only positive sensations.  
Little bells hung over outside the bedroom doors, swinging with the gently morning breeze and creating a melody comparable the sounds of nature outside.  
A man with a long white beard noticed she was listening to the birds’ sing and place his book on the table he was sitting at under the long porch along the bedrooms doors.  
“Is it lovely, isn’t it?”  
“Indeed.”  
“You see, Magdalen – by the way, lovely name you have - this place is on the migratory route so twice every year we hosts a lot of friends with wings.”  
“In London we forget how birds are, we see pigeons and seagulls only.”  
“If you want, we’ll show you later the observation point. My wife is an amateur birdwatcher.”  
After light breakfast in the main building, she was tempted to try a lesson, various guests were already on the grass with mats; she asked the women at the reception, whose white vaporous hair could make her pass for the Queen’s younger sister, but whose name, Hilda seemed too strong and in contrast with her personality.  
“Sure you can, Joanne starts in half an hour and does part of the grass, part in the water.”  
“Cold water? It’s the opposite of relaxation.”  
“The water isn’t cold, Magdalen, there are little hot springs here, we use them, they have no healing power but hey hep relax a lot. You can do the path to the springs, there is a little chapel very charming.”  
No chapels, please, she had enough of churches and their inhabitants.  
Hilda offered her a map of the pedestrian walks in the resort area, the list of endangered floral species and instructions on how to preserve the natural reserve.  
“You can wander as you like. The village is five miles south, there’s the ford to follow that lead to the springs, the wild lily valley is a little gem, westward. To get there, you have to pass close to our neighbours.”  
The presence of other people seems so absurd, in a landscape so deprived of traces of human life.  
“I don’t see houses from here.”  
“It’s not so close, a ex military camp, a shooting range If I remember well. Now it is used for troubled teens, half military, half religious. They are counselled and taught to become better people.”  
“You disagree the method? I see you face.”  
“Maybe I don’t agree wholly on it, they are kept inside, the space is big but for me they could feel better at close contact with nature. Nevertheless, you can pass the area without troubles and go see the lilies. It’s worth the view.”  
Hilda recommended to took her phone when leaving and offered outdoor clothes, rain could catch by surprise a walker and it was better to be equipped.


	3. Chapter 3

CH 3 

IT ONCE WAS 

The suspension of the old jeep had been worn off by a life of trail over stones and ground holes, the priest thought.   
Twenty eight interminable minutes on the back seat, since father John left him in the hands of two bearded men who stuffed the jeep with boxes, barely leaving a small spot for him; then they sat at the two front seats and talked in an unintelligible language all the time. The jeep passed through few small villages, scattered farms, road signs not in English and then left the paved road.  
When the back door eventually was opened to let the priest out, after discarding half of the boxes - that seemed more important than giving space to the passenger - he found himself in the middle of a squared area surrounded by military barracks, two on each side. The jeep soon turned and left and a tall man walked toward him, dressed with military clothes, red hair betraying an Irish heritage. A silver cross was pinned on the jacked he wore, just above his heart.   
“You’re the one from London?”   
The priest looked around, no one else was close to be addressed so.  
The tall man stopped in front of him, his face has so many wrinkles and freckles it was impossible to define his age.  
“Yes, I am.”   
“We’ll call you by your town name. Give me your bag.”   
He passed the bag, full of books he planned to read, grabbed in a hurry from his home library while father John’s inquisitive eyes never abandoned him.   
“Your things aren’t useful here. Go through that green door, there’s the wardrobe. Strip to socks and underwear and dress what Peter gives you. Now! Hurry up!”  
The tall man used a silver whistle and a face appeared from the window beside the green door.   
“Peter, he’s London, give him clothes and check he has nothing personal with him. No phone, he can keep his watch only.”  
“But my books..”  
The priest tried to claim back his beloved friends, the idea to being deprived of the pleasure of reading seemed terrible.  
“I’ll keep them, you have to work here. Not a holiday. and it’s yes, sir or yes, father Benjamin.”  
“Yes.”  
“Yes what?”  
“Yes sir.”   
When Peter had finished with him, Father Benjamin took London to the kitchen, in the barrack beside the warehouse.  
A black man with muscles and some tattoo approached the duo from a desk at the kitchen entrance.  
“James, here’s our new guest, introduce him to the rules. I’ll see you later.” Father Benjamin left without giving the priest time to ask what was happening.  
The black man - the letters SGT J on his left breast pocket, under a small red cross - spoke first.   
“You can call me sergeant. My grade in the royal navvy. follow me to your cell.”   
A monk cell, a 3*2 cubicle with a window to high to see through, a small bed and a foot stole under the cross; a bare lamp and a empty metal locker where he put the underwear change.   
The priest looked at the sergeant with a desperate face: this was hell, not a place to think about his future life.   
“Rules are simple. The call is at 5 a.m. you’ll pray in the church until six, then there’s breakfast to prepare and daily chores. In the morning and afternoon you can have a free hour outside.“  
“I was told I had to go to a place to meditate, not a military camp.”  
“You’re here to be tested, brother, you failed and this is obedience only. Our wows are simple, aren’t they?”  
London bowed his head, he has promised his bishop obedience.  
They returned to the kitchen, where three men now were standing between the fires; James sat again at hid desk.  
“For today just look and learn. Dinner is an hour. You’ll serve food, too.”  
Silence was the rule, the priest was instructed, one of the boys would read from the bible.   
The priest watched, how the cooks managed to prepare the simple choice of food, what seemed abundant rations: a bowl of a thick soup, followed by sausages and mash, water only to drink – a little G&T would have been helpful to digest - a strange jelly dessert he planned to refuse.   
When the bell rang, a hundred of boys of various age, height, skin colour entered the refectory and London was too concentrate don serving food to forget where he was.  
The cooks ate after all the others, keeping their portions heated; Father Benjamin eyed the newcomer for the whole dinner and his disapproving look was so convincing London cleaned his food; the cleaning was fast and efficient, the other three men were silent and concentrated on the task. London noticed each had the same red cross of the sergeant and touched his own breast pocket, sure to find the same on himself. So they were all priests.   
The boys gathered in the small square in the middle of the barracks, chatting and playing with some rugby or football balls, until at eight the last bell rang and all the people left hurriedly the central square.   
London looked around, unsure of what to do, then the sergeant called him and with his hand showed him the way to his cell.


	4. Chapter 4

CH 4

Floating in the warm water was so good, a blissful sensation of peace enveloped her, only a cd with relaxing music at a low volume from a stereo hidden somewhere was interrupting the chirping of the birds and the occasional jingle of the bells all around the place.  
She was not alone in the swimming pool but it felt it was reserved for her only.  
Joanne – the teacher – had a voice and a way with words she was able to soothe her tormented soul.  
When the lesson began, her mind could not concentrate on the positions she was asked to perform, the priest’s face was rooted in her brain, the evening they met, the time spent in his garden, at the cafè, the final parting at the bus stop.  
She wanted to cry, it hurt, so much, but she was supposed to be silent, following Joanne’s lead, so she kept tears inside. Until – a few minutes or maybe an hour after – she woke up from the meditation with a clean and free mind.  
She felt ethereal, her soul had quieted and her body too.  
When Joanne prompted the group to bathe it was like a rebirth, a nw start, she cut off all memories and recollection, her family, her life and her work.

Becoming a Buddhist suddenly appeared interesting, a different kind of religion, faith and devotion. She felt stronger an ready to take in the afternoon one of the walks Hilda had suggested. 

 

Father Benjamin took the priest apart after breakfast.  
“We want to see if you can maintain your wow in the future. Regarding the boys the method can be not orthodox but they are here, not in juvenile hall. We try to help them, we give them rules they can follow for a different kind of life.”  
The priest tried to hide is amusement at the notion of orthdodoxy.  
“The results are proven good. Now you have your morning free time. Go to the sergeant at the gate.”  
James took from his pocket a small timer, set it on 60 minutes and handed it to the priest.  
“You’re back at my desk before it expires, or today you’ll clean all the kitchen by yourself. Understood?”  
“Yes sir. And, sir?” He looked around at the nature surrounding him. “Are there foxes around?”  
“Foxes? They are everywhere in England. Why do you ask?”  
“We’re in Wales, sir.”  
“This is a fucking island! Foxes can travel. Are you afraid? Shout and they’ll run away.”  
The gate opened and he was out, alone. He never felt freedom was so important. He breathed again, started walking; he was scared, fuckingly unsure of what to do, where to go. In the end he just followed the wired fence of the camp until he reached the woods, then got back.  
He wondered if the other priests were out, but no one was in sight. Were they scared or bored or resigned by now? For how long he’d confined there? 

 

The preparation of lunch was a repetition of what London witnessed at dinner; hamburger and peas as the main course, another a holy lecture from a different reader.  
He was ordered to control the peas, a sea of green balls swimming in the tomato sauce.  
The other cooks in the kitchen weren’t eager to talk, the sergeant observed from his desk, full of sheets in neat precision. There was a middle aged man from Manchester, whose red nose and cheeks betrayed his addiction.  
A fat man with a strong Scottish accent, named Carlisle, and another whose skin revealed Caribbean origins were both around his own age  
London’s timid attempts at conversation failed in a thick silence, Kingston was the most reserved of the group, his face a mask, he barely spoke two words.  
The priest resigned, controlled the grill and imagined to be at the parish summer fair, in front of the large BBQ, while the altar boys and girls were around him to receive their share. 

 

After lunch he craved a cigarette, he needed it, like he needed too many other things and people, too. He left the kitchen and wondered how to get busy somehow.  
A boy with light olive skin and moustaches – a product more of adolescence than of a conscious choice – was sitting on a chair outside the kitchen, his face hidden between the knees, swinging very slowly  
The priest looked at him for a little while.  
Seldom he saw sadness and impotence so mixed up. Hallo he said in a low voice.  
The boy moved, surprised someone was addressing him  
“You re talking with me?”  
“There’s me and you only. You seem in need of help.”

“I don’t want to be here.”  
“I suspect few people like places like this.”  
“Do you?”  
“Not at all, but we’re stuck here.”  
“You’re ..a priest, aren’t you?”  
“I’m not perfect, maybe.”  
“At school, a classmate passed me a knife, he had to get rid of it. I didn’t want it, I spoke aloud and the principal saw me and …it was not my fault, but since my dad had a bad record and is often in jail they sent me here.”  
“No one believed you?”  
“No! and my mother is always drunk so they think I’m a piece of shit. I didn’t want the knife, I swear, and now my life is more fucked up than before.”


	5. Chapter 5

CH 5

He decided to dare, to leave the prison that was not a real prison and go discover what was outside the fences.  
In a quarter of an hour the priest lost sight of the camp and walked out of a group of trees in the open; he noticed along his path a pole with signs, so after reading the indications he went for the one leading to the Chapel ford. Soon he climbed up a small hill and was surrounded by a field of heather in full bloom, all the nuisances the earth could produce.   
He stopped and did a 360 turn: the scenery was breathtaking for a London born and breed guy like him, the feeling of loneliness was extreme.   
Woods on his right, a moorland in front of him and on the right, in the distance, a reservoir or some very small lake. Water, to clean, to wash away sins. He remembered the evening he left her at the bust stop, when he returned home and scrubbed himself under the shower until his skin was red and sore, to wash away all her memories. A fool, how he could ever forget the perfume she wore, subtle nuances of jasmine and something else he could not remember but would never forget.   
He turned when he noticed something moving on the ground at the left of his visual field.   
He stopped to study the situation, the wildlife wasn’t his forte, animals especially. London zoo knowledge was not a great achievement, plus a collection of national geographic dvd about African animals: he was probably more able to manage a lion than a squirrel.   
He decided to make a few steps forward, keeping at a safe distance; he eyed the trees on his right in case of need, but they were more bushes, too weak to support his weight. A short stone wall used to separate pastures was on his left, but probably animals could trespass it too.  
The fox was still, then moved closer to a large stone and he saw the orange tail, unmistakable.   
The fox was waiting for him.   
The fox was too close for his comfort.   
He turned and walked fast back, returning to the path crossing.  
There was someone else ready the signs, who turned when heard him approaching-.

The day was perfect for a walk, no clouds, bright sky, warm temperature, nothing stops her in having the fist taste of welsh countryside.   
“Magdalen, are sure you go alone? June and Peter told me they’d be happy to show you the place” She thanked Hilda, but politely refused, too many thought in her mind to dissect.   
Still, it hurt. He said it’d pass, but when? And if it’d pass, would she feel less alive, less constant in her attempts of change?   
So many questions, some better to forget, it she had to find her way, there in Wales or back home.   
She was used to walk in London, but the ground under her feet was so different, without heels or city shoes the impact of the walk on bare ground with proper trekking shoes gave pleasant shots on her whole body, every step prompting her to continue, her legs felt stronger, her back more supportive of her frame.  
Hilda said the people of the military camp were confined inside, so the figure she spotted in the distance, walking quickly on a path that would cross hers in a while, where a pole stood, was sure another trekker, she thought, probably a man with short dark hair.   
From a distant holiday in Scotland with an ex boyfriend, she recalled it was common to greet with a polite “Hallo” the people met along paths.   
Concentrated on the nature around her, she didn’t think about the other walker, until she was a few steps close and heard his gasp. 

“What are you doing here?”  
His voice was so tense she thought he could faint on the spot.   
“Me? What are you doing? What the hell are you in the craziest part of Wales? “   
“I’m in a meditation centre.”  
“I’m in a fucking juvenile reformatory, prison, jail or whatsoever, ruled by an ex military chaplain and surrounded by foxes.”  
He was breathing heavily, completely taken by surprise at the sight of her, of all the people in the world, her.  
“And you are free to walk in the moor?”   
“I have two hours a day for myself the rest if the time I’m into cooking.”  
She was so happy to see him, despite her decision to leave London; he was there, he face showed happiness only. God had decided to favourite another meeting, this time without thing ready to crash. The closest wall was a mile away.   
“I confessed our night and the bishop sent me here. To test my faith. My obedience. All my wows.”  
“There’s a camp for teens in trouble, I was told.”  
“And priests in spiritual crisis. one is an alcoholic, one liked young choristers of both sex, we have to cook. They call me London, I’ve lost my identity, my books, my clothes.”  
“Fun. Your bishop has strange ideas how to punish his priests.”   
“This army chaplain, he plays as we’re in the army I peeled 20 kg of potatoes this morning.”  
“An exercise in modesty.”  
“Fuck it, I haven’t killed anyone. If I knew, I’d keep our secret.”  
“Better for you. I told my sister and she sent me to an adorably resort. See this orange t shirt? It is the colour the yoga teacher choose for me. It suits my inner soul, according to my personality: we wear all sweet colours there.”   
“You’re beautiful in whatever dress, your skin glows.”  
He could easily add she was also beautiful naked, but he felt he had no rights, after the way he left at the bus stop.  
Beep. Beep. Beep.   
The priest glanced at the timer, only a quarter of an hour to go back, he started trembling and sweating. He wanted madly to touch her but if he dared so he‘d be lost again.  
“I have to go. Can’t stay longer. Tomorrow? Same place, same hours? Please?”   
He looked at her, eyes pliant, he had no time to full explain the mess he was into, but he wanted to see her, again, the idea she was close, so close, felt like a sign of God, a blessing he maybe did not deserve, but surely accepted.   
He run away after her consent and arrived barely in time.  
The sergeant was waiting for him at the gate.   
Disappointment on his face, was he hoping – expecting – a failure and a punishment? 

She sat on a fallen tree trunk placed on the grass as a sort of bench, watching his frame disappear fast.  
Was he a ghost? A vision her mind produced? She pinched her arm to proof herself she was awake, then remembered if it was a dream she could have felt any way the sting.  
Another sting disturbed her, an insect on her bare wrist and she rubbed the sore spot, seeing it the redness forming – Hilda would sure have a remedy, maybe a natural one - and she didn’t feel the itch, didn’t have the need to scratch her skin, because she was again concentrated on the man who had just left her.   
The man who was so used to leave her.   
Except for the promise, this time, to return, the promise she read on his face written in capital letters.  
In the distance, a thunder roared and she looked up into the sky.  
“Are You joking with us, God? If it is so, please stop now, for good or worse.”


	6. Chapter 6

CH 6

A sleepless night followed her meeting with the priest.  
She imagined the psychological and physical control by the ex army chaplain over him, having to admit she secretly enjoyed the idea of having Father locked up in a prison - like camp. She’d like to be his private sergeant, her wicked mind wanted to create interesting scenarios of control and she chastised it.   
But he did not deserve such a place, why he simply couldn’t love her and god together in day light? Love was not a sordid affair, love was a gift of God.   
She had read tabloids and listened tv news about how the church treated the priests with a lover or worse with a complete family, in her internet search she had found books and movies better than the soapy-opera Thorn Birds.   
The American movie The cardinal was too dramatic for her tastes. The Italian one, with Marcello Mastroianni and Sofia Loren was the more realistic she watched. She could well imagine how the church lured Don Mario back into the traditional establishment and the deep sadness of Valeria, his lover, who choose to keep her pregnancy a secret because her man was lost for ever.   
She didn’t want such an outcome for their relationship, a child now was a foolish impossible idea – better to reinforce the condom supply she had - and the church was testing her priest the hard way, not with a call to Rome – that could be a good idea for a vacation, still - and a prestigious assignment, but with a hard time in a camp for young gang members.   
Why they couldn’t have the family life of a married vicar like in “A quiet man”, where the priest and the vicar were friendly without stealing each other the parishioners and Mrs. Vicar was a proper respectable lady with a lovely cottage and garden? 

 

She appeared so pure to him, no make up, no fresh hair cut, her slender frame so deliciously visible under the light jacket she wore.  
He spent the evening and the early morning in the small chapel, recollecting her, since their first meeting to their only night together.   
Suddenly that morning cooking was no more a burden, he washed salad and tomatoes until his hands were numb due the cold water, his heart could warm them with every thought about her.  
The priest understood his world was brighter with her in it, everything appeared easier, lighter; if that was not the purpose of love, he wondered what else love could be.   
After lunch he searched around for the boy with the knife problem, looking at the others with a different perspective. He saw the loneliness, the fear, the uncertainty some of them were experiencing, the camp was worsening their life, not lessening their burdens.   
The boy was called Rajiv and he accepted gladly the cup of coffee the priest hold hm.   
“Would you like to learn a job? Or go back to school?”   
“I’d like to find a job soon to help my mother, she limps a lot and so she cannot do long shifts.”  
“I’d like to help you.”  
“But with my history and staying here I’m fucked up for good jobs.”  
“Never say never, miracles happens.” He said, leaving the stunned boy with a big smile. 

 

“For how long you have to stay there?”   
“I don’t know, I cannot leave, no car and we’re in the middle of nowhere.”   
When the gate opened, at first the priest has walked fast, then when he was far enough he run, to have more time to spend with her; he forgot to check for foxes, such in a hurry he was.   
She was already there, sat on a stone, looking at the sky above her; seeing him, she stood and went close.  
“I’ll find a way to help you, I’ll ask the people at the centre, I’ll call my sister too.”  
The priest took her hand and kissed it tenderly.   
“I prayed God all the time, I need an answer.”  
“About how leaving the place? Does he sends maps of central Wales from above?”   
“About leaving you again. About your lovely mind and your delectable body.”   
“Glad to be admired.”  
“I can’t help myself in wanting to kiss you again, to say the least.”  
She lowered her cupped hand in the small ford beside them and splashed cold water over him. he cried in surprise.   
“This is to calm your ardent fever, if we kiss we have no time to plan.”   
And planning they did, for the following day.  
The priest left with a new spring in his steps, not to mention how a misplaced step made his boot fell into a pool he did not spotted in time.  
Those tv ads where people were half walking half flying in beautiful landscapes, before buying not useful items, just to pursue an hedonistic compulsive buying need, come to his memory. Forget the hedonism and think of her beauty only, he told himself.  
He had hope, that fucking little thing that only three days before seemed lost, was back in his grasp, only because she was back.  
They’d find a way, a rightful, legitimate way to live and to meet.   
If his church allowed Anglican married priest to join in and remain married, maybe it was possible to find a reverse pattern and change cult, not his loyalty to God.  
He loved his mission, his work, the vocation to serve and be helpful. And they had a meeting, again, and he thanked God for her clever mind.


	7. Chapter 7

CH 7

 

When the priest arrived at the usual place, half a dozen of people were waiting for him. the surprise she had obtained so many helpers for her plan was a pleasure indeed. She was talking and smiling with her new friends and when he approached her a bold man offered his hand.  
“I’t a pleasure to meet you. I’m Frank. Magdalene told us a lot about you. It seems you two need time to rest and discuss your situation. My dear, offer your friend his creamy outfit, we’ll add his name later. We’re ready to return now”   
The priest got swiftly rid of the military clothes, so out of place in the new group, the concept to change various kind of uniforms during the last few days made him think about the need to find stability, a way to define himself. The t shirt and the trousers were stored in a bag with his boots, a new pair of trekking shoes were comfortable; her exceptional ability to get his shoe number.   
Soon the group reached the resort where Hilda was waiting for them.  
There were questions while they walking, she was right before him, he could try a conversation.   
“Magdalene? Is it your real name?”   
“Ssshh. I use it here. I’ll explain later. You need a name, too.”  
“By why that name?”   
“Are you forgetting theology? Was Mary of Magdala considered or not in apocryf gospels the wife of Jesus, Father?”   
He smiled, his beautiful smile reserved for her.   
Hilda checked the room occupancy.   
“Magdalene dear, you want to share room with our new friend or…”  
She stopped Hilda, the notion to be parted completely illogical  
“We can share.”   
She had spoken before asking the priest, so she turned, but he had already took her hand in acceptance.

 

They waited for the name to be sewed on his t shirt – Thomas, from saint Thomas, the one who believed when he touched – but the moment the room door closed behind them, he was at her like a thirst man in the desert who had found the blessed well of water to drink from.   
His lips wanted hers with a fury blended with a tenderness they never tried before; the clothes fell on the floor like magic, hands everywhere, mapping each body with sharp precision.  
“I want you” - he whispered – “I need you more than my own life now.”  
He keeled in front of her, needing her forgiveness; he buried his face in her navel, her scent, her sweetness; her fingers in his hair on his scalp, when his hand touched bare skin under her panties  
“What did I do … save you ..from ..a fucking training camp. Oh yes……If only I knew you were so close.”  
“You saved me from everything.” He declared when she prompted him to stand up.  
His fingers were tracing maps on her body and pushing all her sensitive spots of their own volition, his mouth claimed all her face, when she took possession of her rock hard prize he gasped.  
God’s name on his lips for the joy to be alive and together. She suddenly stopped to stroke his member and he questioned her, noticing she was looking around the room.   
“What?”  
“I’m controlling the paintings if He’s going to alert us again.”  
She could be an atheist, but coincidences were getting too close, too frequent, to deny there was a supernatural reason above them.

Before joining the others for dinner, they did a tour of the place; his trained eye noticed the buildings were in need of a good renovation, a lot of tiles on the porch were damaged, walls needed repainting, there was a lack of maintenance all around.   
He pointed out all the repairs needed, like he was speaking with competence before making a price quotation to the house owner. .   
“How did you notice all those thing?” Her curiosity for a new side of him.  
“An uncle from my dad’s side is a contractor, in my teen years in summer I helped him to get some money. I liked to listen to him discussing with the architects how to renovate house.s He often asked me to take pictures before and after his work, he put them in a folder. His memories, he said.”

 

“You know they’d forgive me more easier for getting you pregnant doing strictly vaginal sex than using your body in another way?”  
They spent half the night making love and now were lying on the bed, sated.  
“Is it so? We’ve tried many ways. So… are we sinners?”   
“No more confessions of sins for me. I don’t regret anything.”  
“Do you really?”   
“Yes. I need to find a way to be with you and with God, I’m telling it aloud to someone for the first time.”  
“Forcing you to choose won’t make us last. And you could hate me for trapping you. No, not that way, I’m over contracepted.” She added, noticing his concerned expression, the idea for him was too scary for now.  
“You’re freeing me, I trust you.”  
He was feeling more equilibrated than ever, at first his crazy years as a young man, the dissolute years as he called them, then the seminar and priesthood, when he thought penance was the right way to set his life back on tracks.  
The choice had to be free, spontaneous, without interferences, at her offer to leave him at the resort to think and practice yoga or meditation the priest refused, his project was different, the boys he met at the cam, he wanted to help.   
I got an idea, show those boys there is another way of living. We can go and talk with father B. we need Hilda.  
“Are you sure? What if they keep you in for disobedience?”   
“I’m not afraid and I’m not a coward. If I was, I’d not pursued you, I’d just stay away after the restaurant.”   
“So who pursued who?”   
“It’s the woman that decides, if she thinks yes, it’s a yes.”   
“Never thought going into psychology?”   
“I’m too old to go back to university, I can use my degree, found a job to support us.”  
“It’s not so urgent.”   
The flat was hers, she explained, a legacy from a late aunt, and the cafè was going well, so if he wanted to take a few months off, they would not starve to death.  
“In London I have to talk to the bishop. It won’t be easy.”  
“you could tell him you discovered yoga?”   
“Yoga is not a religion . the belief in a supreme entity is abstract.”  
“Also the chackras are so, still people of all religions practice it.”  
“Point given. The bishop won’t be happy to know about us.”  
“You said no more confessions.”  
“We’re not a sin to confess. I’ll simply tell him I’m not giving up you and sex.”  
“So we’re two, me and sex?”  
“Sex with you, I mean.” 

 

Hilda was enthusiast of the brave proposal from the priest, his first draft of the renovations and his idea to use the boys of the camp to teach them new abilities work and give them a new hope in their lives.   
“Thanks, Thomas, it is fantastic, I’m sure it will be a perfect exchange. I need to talk with the others and if they agree we’ll need to meet Father Benjamin and the sergeant.”   
The priest smiled to reassure himself more than Hilda. He was a little scared to meet the crew of the camp again but when he turned she was by his side, and things would go better because he got her,   
The same afternoon the mini van stopped at the front gate, Frank, Hilda’s husband, gave his generalities and address and asked to see the responsible of the place.  
The priest took a deep breath, courage could not desert him in the wrong moment.   
He hesitated for a few seconds with the back door open and she squeezed his hand to reassure and confirm her support. He smiled briefly then left the seat and turned around the van to face Father Benjamin.   
“London, you were missed yesterday, what happened? Did you get lost or injured? We’ve searched you all day, I was going to cal the police!”   
“I needed time to think.”  
Father Benjamin’s face was a mask of controlled anger, ready to explode.  
“You’re not supposed to think, you’re here to learn how to be a priest. Isolation is waiting for you.”  
“No!”  
“No?”   
“I’m leaving, with the most important person in my life. But before doing so, I want to make you a serious proposal for the sake of the boys here.” 

EPILOGUE

Back from the cafè. she opened the mail box and retracted the small envelope, a creamy rugged paper with a little symbol on the top left corner.  
An invitation.  
She hooked her coat and went to the kitchen, the radio and the flavours informing her someone was cooking dinner, waving the envelope.   
Her priest was at the fires, wearing a green t shirt - she bought him some funny in a Camden store, to give him a new wardrobe for a new life – and a pair of worn out jeans.  
She approached him in silence, wanting to place a kiss on his bare neck, when he turned and smiled with a wooden spoon in hand.   
His smile, enough to make her knees weak; he was happy, tired from work but deliciously happy.   
“Dinner’s ready in five minutes. A new pasta recipe. There’s a red Californian wine to open, I’ve been confirmed at work after my trial time.”  
She went to hug him, not caring the stained apron - he was always a mess at cooking, getting always traces of burning food all over arms and clothes – and kissed him hungrily on the lips. They parked when the timer rang to signal to drain pasta an she lifted the envelope.  
“Another thing to celebrate, if I’m right.”  
He opened it and took off the handwritten sheet to read it.   
“Magdalene and Thomas are invited on Saturday 12th for the inauguration of the new resort.”  
It was signed by Hilda and Father Benjamin.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this is a work of fantasy and in Wales there is nothing of that sort, maybe....
> 
> Writing without characters' names is peculiar, So I am using a little device to make the work more fluid. And the thing is getting longer I imagined at first, so more time is needed to complete it.


End file.
